


The North Pole

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert drags workaholic Ludwig out for a night of fun at a strip joint that just so happens to be a male strip club. There, Ludwig encounters a certain dancer that will reel him into a strange roller coaster of feelings, weird adventures, and even some drama.</p><p>(This sounds like a stupid soap opera commercial but I promise it isn't that lame . . .)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Art

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so here it is, the highly demanded GerIta Stripper AU!
> 
> The title is the result of me and my mom discussing what to name a gay strip club, and her saying something about a pole then randomly asking me if there was anything else I wanted for Christmas. So naturally my hella rad brain came up with
> 
> The North Pole: Where it's Christmas all year round
> 
> The slogan is supposed to imply that the half naked men are like . . . gifts . . . yeah it's . . . fucking dumb.
> 
> BUT I LIKE IT SO SHHH.

Tedious was the best word. It was the only word, but also the best word to describe Ludwig Beilschmidt. He was a hard working man, always arriving early to the office and leaving well after everyone else because he was a man of efficiency and he wanted to do his job well. It was indeed hard to screw up being a Travel Agent, but he’d been told on numerous occasions that his demeanor and serious aura made him seem less interested in the customers so his logic dictated that he should just work harder.

It was always the same. Wake up, shower, comb back hair, get dressed in a stuffy suit, then work for more than 12 hours. Every single day, Monday through Friday, it was always the same. Naturally, any family members that still spoke to him worried about his health, even though he was as tall and bulky as ever, and his brother never left him alone about ‘loosening up’ and being more ‘awesome’. It was bothersome but never did Ludwig say anything because he did realize that his lifestyle wasn’t the healthiest one but he enjoyed working and nothing would change that.

That was why, when Gilbert came strutting into the office at 6:00 when most everyone but Ludwig was gone, the blond got an overwhelming sense of foreboding that said Gilbert was here to bug him about something. Again.

“WEST! How’s my favorite brother doing? Awesome of course, because I’m here to entertain you! Anyways before you kick me out I have a proposition for you!”

Sighing tiredly, Ludwig set his glasses down on the desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

“What is it now Gilbert? I am working.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I’m here! You need to get out and go somewhere that isn’t your boring stuffy office or your boring stuffy house. Just tonight, then I won’t ask again for like, a month.”

“I can’t. I have to work. I have vacation portfolios that are due next Thursday.”

“It’s like, Friday. You have a week. Please West c’mon! Just tonight.”

Ludwig cradled his chin in his hand, peering up at the albino with resigned eyes.

“Make it two months that you do not bug me, and we have a deal.”

Gilbert actually reeled back a bit, surprise written over his face and his jaw dropped. After a few seconds of spluttering and unconvinced squinting, he finally said something intelligible.

“Are you for real? Seriously?”

He received a tired nod.

“Alright! But you like, seriously gotta change out of that suit and wear something a bit more . . . attractive. I’ll pick you up at 7:30, so get your ass home and get ready, because I WILL be on time.”

With that, leaving no more room for discussion, Gilbert left as quickly as he arrived, leaving Ludwig to grumble to himself while he packed up.

It wasn’t that Ludwig didn’t enjoy spending time with his brother, or that he hated going out. He just liked his job and the satisfaction that came with doing it well better. But, as much as he hated to admit it to himself, he really did need at least one night of loosening up. His body was starting to take the blunt end of all the stress, and if he didn’t get a few beers and a good time in his system he might actually end up hurting himself.

So, once he’d put his laptop and glasses into his briefcase, he made his way down to his car to drive home. He milled over where Gilbert was planning on taking them but for the life of him couldn’t think of anywhere his brother liked to go. So was the toll of never going out _with_ him.

When 7:25 rolled around, Ludwig was freshly showered and dressed in khaki pants with a blue and white striped button up and a black zipped up jacket over it, both sleeves rolled to his elbows. He nodded once before pushing his hair back with his fingers and grabbing his wallet and keys.

Gilbert was, surprisingly, right on time. It seemed that he was if it was something he wanted to do, naturally. It only took a few seconds of waiting before he started honking obnoxiously.

After Ludwig locked the doors and walked outside to get in the car, he was greeted with a shockingly well dressed Gilbert who, by Ludwig’s assessment, looked much too excited.

“Woah! Is that my baby brother all dressed like a normal 24 year old?”

“I was lucky to find these clothes in my closet. I did not even remember owning these. You look more dressed up than usual. Where are we even going?”

“Ahh, you’ll see in due time.”

Sighing and shaking his head, Ludwig buckled his seatbelt and prepared for the ride that would undoubtedly consist of terrifying driving, loud Rammstein threatening to burst the speakers, and Gilbert screaming German curses at anyone driving less than ten miles per hour over the speed limit. It would not be fun, in lesser terms.

After about ten minutes in the nightmare on wheels, they pulled into a parking lot that sat very full in front of a building that Ludwig could already hear the music coming out of. He already didn’t like this.

“Gilbert, where are we?”

“The North Pole.”

“What? I am being serious.”

“Yeah, so am I. This place is called The North Pole. You’ll see why.”

Then with a wink of an eye, Gilbert turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, Ludwig close behind.

When they got closer to the door, Ludwig could smell the thick stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat permeating from the inside of wherever they were. Loud music also filtered out from the tinted glass doors and once they’d passed the suspicious group lingering just a few feet away, Ludwig fell into step close to Gilbert. He already had a small idea of where exactly they were.

He was right. But at the same time, he was so, so wrong.

He’d expected the tinted lights and the loud music. He’d expected the packed bar and abundance of people. Yes, he even expected half naked people dancing on poles in provocative clothing that was littered with singles and sometimes larger bills.

But he had not expected that all of these dancers would be men and that the bartender would shout out familiar greetings to Gilbert as if he’d been there a thousand times.

“Gilbert Beilschmidt. You took me to a gay strip club.”

Gilbert looked over his shoulder at Ludwig like he’d just said the dumbest thing ever.

“Well, yeah. I always come here on Friday nights. It’s like, the greatest place ever.”

“You never told me you were gay.”

“Neither did you but I just figured it out on my own.”

Ludwig’s jaw dropped.

“What makes you think I’m gay?”

“Bro, I just know stuff like this. Am I wrong?”

He just stared with pink cheeks and a dying noise squeaking from his throat. He couldn’t really think of anything to say. When Gilbert smirked and nodded, continuing his path to an empty table near the back.

Once they’d sat down and Ludwig resigned to his fate, he took a look around and was immediately bored with every one of the dancers. Sure, they were attractive and yes they had very nice bodies and faces but that’s all they were. Bodies and faces. They weren’t beautiful or stunning nor did they possess any allure. He saw nothing that would ever peak his interest.

He decided to at least get something out of the night, so while Gilbert seemed mesmerized by a particularly risqué dancer, Ludwig stood to go get them beer.

The club was actually decently nice, and even Ludwig could admit that it seemed to be capable of offering a fun night. He shook his head and let out a tired chuckle. It was so very like Gilbert to pull this.

The beer was great. Fantastic, actually, so that added another check to the good side of Ludwig’s mental good-bad chart. He held Gilberts in one hand as he sipped at his own and tried to maneuver between the hoard surrounding the bar. It had taken him twenty minutes just to get two beers and by now the song had changed to that of something by Adam Lambert, something that seemed fitting, Ludwig thought. But he also figured he should get back to Gilbert before he began to assume he’d already picked up someone to bring home.

But when he passed the first station closest to the bar he was immediately halted, his feet heavy like lead and his eyes glued on the scantily clad figure on top of the marble surface.

The dancer that was there before must have switched with the boy who was there now, because there was no way that Ludwig would have ever missed someone as incredibly and impeccably beautiful as this. His eyes were drawn, and he couldn’t look away.

He was young. Maybe 22, but Ludwig was skeptical because how could anyone older than that be so gorgeous? A lithe body with sun kissed skin and long feminine legs and the tiniest most adorable feet Ludwig had ever seen on a male, his enchantingly tight behind encased in tiny red shorts that Ludwig would never get the image of out of his head. Not to mention the slender hips and supple stomach that led to a perfect chest but broad shoulders and long arms that had the perfect amount of muscle that rippled slightly under his skin as he pulled himself up.

But the one thing that captured Ludwig’s attention was his face. Oh God his face, with pink pouty lips and a small perfect nose and huge amber eyes that were surrounded by long thick lashes. He was beautiful. Strikingly, heart breakingly, heavenly beautiful, and when his honey auburn hair that was as smooth and shiny as silk fell into his eyes as he tossed his head back, Ludwig swore that the light caught him in such a way that made him seem like the sun.

He just stared, and stared, and did not move until the boy was finished, his gems of eyes giving a wink as he strut off of the stage with his outrageous amount of tips. It was then and only then that Ludwig shook himself from his stupor and begrudgingly made his way back to the table, only to be met with a disgruntled Gilbert.

“Where the hell did you go? I assumed you were getting beer and I’ve been waiting for like, forty five minutes.”

“I did get beer. There was . . . a long wait.”

Ludwig sat the now room temperature beer in front of his brother, who after frowning at the beer cracked a suspicious smirk.

“You talked to someone, didn’t you?”

“Er, no, not exactly.”

“Ahh, so you saw someone who interested you, did you not?”

Ludwig blushed and drank his beer while his eyes burned a hole in the floor.

“Oh man, my baby brother got all caught up in a strip dance, how cute! So, which one was it? Show me, show me.”

“Nein, he is gone already. He only did one dance, then left. But he got more tips than most of these guys see in probably two entire nights of work. He was . . . something.”

Gilbert let out one of his strange snickers and sipped at his beer some more.

“Was he the one at the station nearest to the bar?”

Ludwig nodded.

“Oh! Well, I couldn’t see him too well, but Mattie says that he just started working here last week. Seems like he’s doing a pretty kick ass job though if he got Mr. Stuffy Pants to gawk at him!”

“Who’s Mattie?”

“Oh, just some cute Canadian kid who gets dragged here by his annoying brother on Friday nights.”

“Sounds like a familiar situation.”

Gilbert just laughed and slapped Ludwig on the shoulder while drinking his beer, continuing to watch the other dancers and chat with who Ludwig assumed was Matt. Once it reached around one in the morning, Ludwig called a cab and dragged Gilbert outside while he slurred about wanting to drink ‘just one more beer West just one more’ even though he’d already had around six or seven. He’d lost count.

So, after that night, Ludwig continued his every day schedule, grueling and boring but productive and time worthy. At least to him. It continued that way, Ludwig falling back into the normal swing of things and content to the fullest.

But on Monday when he sat in his office surrounded by papers and the scent of fresh printed documents and the sound of his computer fan whirring as the only thing to break the silence, he suddenly wished to be back at the club and watching the mesmerizing body of the dancer he’d been so entranced by. He simply craved the way that lithe frame moved, the way the soft lights played perfectly over his soft skin, the way his shorts fit so tight and they were the only thing on his body at all because he didn’t need to be covering that gift to Earth.

He shook his head and sighed, trying to concentrate on work again instead of replaying the short ten minutes in his brain. He did, however, decide that he wanted to see him again badly enough to endure another night out with Gilbert. It wasn’t usually that Ludwig went out anyways, so it wouldn’t hurt too much.

So, he texted Gilbert to tell him that he’d be going with him again on Friday and that seemed to make his brother’s day because he would not stop texting back numerous times about what he’d be wearing and what time they should go and many other stupid benign things that Ludwig did not care about.

Friday came and went, Ludwig extremely and obviously upset that for some reason the dancer was nowhere to be found, even though they’d gone at the same time as the week before. Then, another Friday passed, and another, and finally a month later, Ludwig had still seen no sign of the boy even though he’d spend hours upon hours in that club every Friday night with Gilbert just waiting, craving, hoping. But there was nothing. It was like he’d vanished.

So, here he was, Saturday afternoon, sitting in his living room with lemonade and a book in his hand. He was bored, really, but he was also disappointed and upset, and honestly he didn’t want to deal with anyone or go anywhere.

But Gilbert had other plans. He’d texted Ludwig, effectively scaring him senseless because of the shrill beeping in the stark silence, to ask him to pick up something for him at the art store because he was out of gas and he had a sculpture he was desperately trying to finish and needed supplies.

So, begrudgingly and with a loud string of curses and groans, he got dressed and dragged himself out the front door to drive to the art store in the center of town. As much as he didn’t want to go out, he did thoroughly enjoy the scent of paint, wood, and clay that wafted over him once he’d entered the shop. He was by no means an artist, but he loved the scent of the supplies. It was Earthy, pure, and beautiful.

Now, scanning the isle that had massive blocks of clay, he was mumbling idly to himself in an attempt to find the exact type that Gilbert, repeatedly and obnoxiously, requested. It all looked the same, but if you touched it, some was rock solid while others were dark and watery and molded under one touch, and some was green and smelled of moss and there were even blocks of pure white clay that had baking instructions on it, which Ludwig didn’t really understand. But eventually he found what Gilbert wanted, it of course being a brand that was tucked away into the furthest corner.

So, tucking the large rectangle under his arm, he made his way around the next isle, which happened to be paints, to go check out and drop the clay off at Gilbert’s apartment.

But when he turned the corner he stopped, the feeling in his stomach and the weight of his feet all too familiar to that of the first Friday night that month ago. He felt like he just couldn’t move, like his eyes were glued and motionless and his entire body was that of a boulder.

Because there he stood, his knee high brown boots over his corduroy khaki pants and his long brown fall coat with his hands shoved deep into the pockets. The bright blue scarf that was wrapped around his neck hid his chin and mouth, but the eyes were absolutely unmistakable along with his figure that Ludwig could see even under the jacket and in the pants. He was smiling, it could be seen clearly in his eyes, and he was staring at the assortment of paints and canvases like a child in a candy shop. He seemed to be in love, enchanted at the sight of so many different paints and brushes and sizes of canvas, but when Ludwig watched him pick up a tube and look down at the price, his eyes widening and then turning sad, it almost broke his heart.

So, mustering up any and every ounce of courage he had, Ludwig slowly meandered up next to the other, following his line of vision to a particularly beautiful shade of blue.

“You are a painter.”

The smaller seemed to jump a bit at the new voice next to him, but immediately relaxed and turned to look up at Ludwig with a dimpled smile. Ludwig just about melted.

“Yes. It’s just that . . . I am almost out of paints, and I just moved here so I’ve never seen an art store this big! There’s so many . . . It’s incredible, really, but I really don’t have the money to buy even the cheapest ones. See, I moved here because my brother is in the hospital and I wanted to be closer to him but I also have to help with the bills and pay my rent and I have a . . . not so great job so . . . Oh, I’m so sorry. . . I am talking too much.”

Ludwig was surprised at the boy’s voice. It was soft, like wind chimes, but had a heavy presence and was very hard to ignore. But it was so beautiful, and honestly Ludwig could listen to him talk forever.

“No. It is okay, I assure you. My brother talks much more than you do.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad. I’ve been told that I speak too much. You seem very nice. What’s your name, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Ah, it’s uh . . . It’s Ludwig. Ludwig Beilschmidt.”

He stuck his hand out and tried his best to smile warmly, and he assumed he succeeded when a substantially smaller hand did its best to wrap around his.

“Feliciano Vargas. It’s nice to make your acquaintance Ludwig.”

Ah, his name was beautiful as well. Feliciano. Ludwig just couldn’t imagine how this sweet boy was a stripper. It escaped him entirely. But he wanted to do something nice for him. It sounded to Ludwig like life was not treating the other too nicely, so he figured a good deed could brighten his day.

“Er, I’ll tell you what Feliciano.”

The other looked up at Ludwig with a curiously quirked brow, silently asking what it was Ludwig was implying.

“You go ahead and pick out whatever you want, and I will buy it for you. You are a very nice boy and seem to be caring enough to move somewhere unfamiliar for your brother, so you deserve it.”

Ludwig had a hard time not blushing, but when he noticed the smile that erupted like fireworks on Feliciano’s face, he couldn’t really help it. It seemed to make him so happy.

“R-Really? Are you sure? These are so expensive. . .”

“Please, by all means. Pick out as many of whatever as you’d like.”

Feliciano just nodded and turned to the racks once again, his hands picking up bright colors, and subdued colors, and neutral colors as well as warm colors and cool colors and anything in between. Not once did the price cross Ludwig’s mind. The only thing he thought about was how happy Feliciano looked, and how he lingered the longest at the blues because it seemed to be his favorite color, and how his smile did not falter once. It made warmth bloom in Ludwig’s stomach.

After picking up a couple medium sized canvases, Feliciano looked up at Ludwig and, still smiling, nodded that he was done. All in all, he only got about fifteen or twenty tubes of paint and two canvases. It wasn’t even close to what Ludwig thought he would pick up, actually.

They walked up to check out, Ludwig simply swiping his credit card and watching the bouncy brunette from the corner of his eyes, and then went out into the fall air. Ludwig turned to Feliciano just in time to be engulfed in a tight hug that made him gasp and blush like a tomato.

“Thank you so much. Really, this means a lot. I really don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t paint and I am almost out at home and I’m just so stressed lately so . . . thank you, Ludwig. Can I, uh, at least treat you to some coffee?”

Ludwig wanted to. He really wanted to, and his mind was screaming at him to say yes or else he’d probably never see Feliciano again. So, he really, really couldn’t fathom why he said what he did.

“I wish I could, but I need to go give this to my brother or else he’ll start freaking out, and he needs it for a sculpture right now so. . . I am sorry, but I can’t.”

Feliciano’s smile seemed to falter just a bit and Ludwig mentally slapped himself for doing that because Feliciano was so amazing even in the short fifteen minutes they’d known each other. He was drawn in and he didn’t think he could get out again, but damn him and his own nerves.

“Oh, that’s okay Ludwig. But, thank you SO much for this. Maybe one day I can make it up to you!”

With that, Ludwig watched him walk away, a skip in his step and a grin on his face as he walked down the sidewalk and out of sight once again. Ludwig didn’t know when or if he’d ever see him again, but hearing that voice, seeing that smile, learning that name, made it all worthwhile. He still hoped though, that next time Feliciano would really be there on Friday night and if he was, Ludwig promised himself that he would not hesitate. He couldn’t let this one go. He was far too beautiful.


	2. Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so much great feedback for chapter one on Tumblr that I had to write chapter two as soon as I could.
> 
> So here it is! I hope I'm living up to you guys' expectations! <3
> 
> (I used google translate for the like, one Italian word in here so please excuse if it is wrong...I know google translate isn't the most reliable so...)

After that day, the time seemed to creep by at a choking pace, the days almost smothering Ludwig with their blandness. It was honestly surprising because it used to be that Ludwig loved working and staying at the office but that boy showed up and he was all that lingered in the German’s brain. He’d only met him once, officially, and it seemed so creepy to have these feelings for someone who he didn’t even know, let alone the fact that he’d probably never see him again.

But really, he might be quiet and composed and studious, but over any of those things he was incredibly stubborn and determined so, while playing it cool, he’d continue his search of the elusive brunette. He simply had to. It was like someone had set a fire ten times that of hell itself in the pits of his stomach that burned like a craving and the only thing that could put it out was the presence of a tiny artist.

So, that entire work week, he strained immensely to keep his emotions and expressions in check to make it seem like he wasn’t extremely anxious for Friday night. Like he wasn’t waiting, hoping to catch even a glimpse of Feliciano. Like he wasn’t aching inside. It was unlike any sensation he’d ever felt. It affected his work just slightly, his concentration wavering just enough to make him sigh in defeat and leave for home two hours before he normally would.

Then, in all of its glory and anticipation, Friday came, and Ludwig was sporting dark jeans with a white button up and a blue jacket. The color had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that blue was probably Feliciano’s favorite color, and it definitely didn’t get chosen because of its ability to make Ludwig’s icy eyes just that much more piercing. No, not at all.

Gilbert picked him up at the usual time, 7:30, and they arrived ten minutes later to find that Ivan was not in his usual spot at the bar, much to Gilbert's disappointment. The two, Ludwig noticed, seemed to speak a lot. It was only the week before that Ludwig had found out they were bragging to each other about their respective boyfriends and Ludwig effectively cuffed his brother on the back of the neck for not telling him about his relationship. But, after a few beers, neither one cared much for fighting and opted to just talk to Ivan and watch the other dancers.

Tonight was no different, except Ivan wasn’t bartending. A new worker, most likely, was scampering around behind the bar, his sleeve covered hands mixing drinks with actual finesse that Ivan lacked. He was small and appeared Chinese, and the only way Ludwig and Gilbert knew that he was in fact a he was when he spoke. Otherwise, the feminine physique and long black ponytail would have hid the fact. They later learned that he was in fact Ivan’s boyfriend who’d needed a job and landed one bartending on nights that Ivan had . . . other engagements. No one delved into that any further.

When it reached around 9:30, Ludwig was growing hopeless once again, but since he wasn’t at work and he happened to be just a tad drunk off his rocker, his disappointment was written well on his face.

“Hey, bro, what’s got ya down?”

“Huh? Oh . . . It is nothing.”

“You’re lyin’ to the awesome me? Unacceptable! You’ve been waitin’ for your little Italian eye candy to come back, haven’t you?”

“How do you know he is Italian?”

“Mattie said so. Now! I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. Just be patient my bro, watched water never boils.”

With a resigned sigh, Ludwig slid his empty mug down to Yao, who filled it quickly and slid it back. It didn’t take more than ten minutes for Ludwig to repeat the action.

They talked more, and Ludwig began to regret his decisions involving alcohol just as Yao cut him off. At least he was more sensible than Ivan who would just giggle and see how drunk he could get his customers. But all in all, Ludwig was happy because if Feliciano did show up, he wanted to remember it.

But he ended up regretting that sentiment because frankly he wasn’t expecting the Italian to actually show up, let alone show up in white jean shorts that should not be legal for someone with those legs and sheer red stockings that reached the middle of his milky thighs, his feet bare as always. Ludwig had to grab the counter to stay on the barstool. He was even more beautiful than Ludwig remembered.

Then when he started dancing it was really like he’d left this place and gone to his own little world, putting on a façade so the people pooling around his station would believe he was actually into what he was doing. But Ludwig could see, and he knew. Because not only was Feliciano being uncharacteristically lewd, his eyes that lit up like the sun while surrounded by paints and brushes of varieties he’d probably never seen, were utterly spacey and shut off. It was very clear that he did not like what he was doing, moreover did it because he had no choice. And that hurt to the core.

But Ludwig didn’t even know the kinds of things going on in Feliciano’s life. It was not his business. Really. But how, he tried to ask himself, could he ignore someone like that? Someone so sweet and kind and lovely and talented who was pushed down to something he didn’t want to do just for money.

Well, as though the world were testing him, Ludwig was not given much time to think about these things because unfolding In front of his eyes was a scene that enraged him so much, that his hand found purchase on Gilbert’s forearm, his vice grip causing the albino to wince. But once he looked up as well, he understood.

One must realize that it is extremely rude, and in most places against the rules, to touch the dancers. Especially the way two obviously drunk men were attempting to touch Feliciano, and Ludwig was seeing red because how dare they put their disgusting fingers on such a pure individual, and how dare they slur those infuriating words at him.

“Gilbert. Get them off of him, and I’ll take him outside. Go, hurry.”

“Got it.”

So they went, and as Ludwig paid little attention to the two men who were now unfocused on Feliciano and more so on Gilbert, he reached up to grip Feliciano’s tiny trembling fingers in his own. Brown eyes met blue and there was a spark of recognition before the Italian was gripping back and sliding off the high tabletop to glue his body against Ludwig’s.

Quickly, before anyone stopped them, Ludwig took Feliciano out the front door and shrugged his jacket off to pull onto the still shaky boy standing in front of him, zipping it up around the small frame. He placed his hands lightly on Feliciano’s shoulders and patiently waited for the other to stop staring holes into the pavement and instead look up at him so he could speak. And once he did Ludwig just smiled warmly.

“Are you alright? You are still shaking.”

In all honesty, Feliciano wasn’t only shaking but looked as though he were about to burst into tears and crumple like a rag doll right there on the blacktop. Ludwig moved one hand to rest on the top of Feliciano’s head, his fingers carding through soft locks. When Feliciano spoke, it was with a small voice. One of regret.

“I’m fine . . . I wish that you had not been there to see that. It actually happens a lot but . . . Usually it’s just the words, not the touches, so . . .”

“I will not expect you to answer anything that you are not comfortable with, so don’t feel pressured. But, why do you do this?”

Feliciano’s eyes went wide, but returned to their sad state soon after, and with a sigh, he placed his own hand over Ludwig’s that was resting on his shoulder.

“Both my brother and I, we used to dance together in the academy that was in our old town. Every genre you could think of, we could usually accomplish within a week or two of practicing. But my favorite, honestly, had always been pole dancing, because it truly takes a lot of strength and if it is done in a strictly dancing respect, it is quite graceful. People just sexualize it a lot. It made me feel strong.”

He let out a sad chuckle and Ludwig immediately decided that sad laughs were not okay.

“Lovino, he was always good at Latin dances. His partner, Antonio, who he’d actually started dating not too long after, moved there from Spain a few months before so . . . But for me it was always that. So, when Lovino got sick and couldn’t dance anymore, it was already a blow to my confidence. I’d always danced with Lovino, even if it wasn’t in the same genre. We still did it together. So I lost a bit of my happiness and in turn my confidence.”

The hold on Ludwig’s hand tightened, and the tears came, and the world stopped.

“Then I decided . . . I was so unhappy there on my own, with no one. I’d spent so much time with Lovino that I’d realized I had no other friends. So in order to be closer to him I quit my job and moved here but then the bills kept coming and the rent and groceries and . . . I needed a job. But part time wasn’t going to cut it. It just wouldn’t. And I was really only good at one thing. So . . . I took what I could get because I needed the money. It’s not too bad . . . really . . .”

Feliciano sniffled and used his other hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks, the sleeve of Ludwig’s jacket swallowing his hand much like Yao’s clothes did on him. It was then that Ludwig noticed just how little Feliciano was and how his jacket draped over him like a gown and he realized that the world had royally fucked him and it just made him seem all the more smaller. Like a speck of dust that would never be able to tip the scales in his favor.

But Ludwig still felt warmth in his body simply from the boy standing near him. He wanted to help, he wanted Feliciano in his life. He wanted to make him happy. He wanted to give him a chance.

“Feliciano, how old are you?”

“Twenty.”

Oh. _Oh._ This was surprising, and Ludwig didn’t really know what to say, but he could tell that his eyes had probably gone wide because Feliciano looked extremely ashamed and gripped the front of the jacket to pull it over the lower half of his face. It was final. There wasn’t a deity in the universe that could make him turn back now.

“I want you to quite this job. It hurts you, and it makes you sad. You should not be doing these things.”

“I need the money. I really don’t have a choice! If I did I definitely wouldn’t be doing this Ludwig, I promise. But I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do.”

“W-What? What do you mean?”

“Quit this job. I will help you as much as you need, but I will not sit by and allow you to live so unhappily like this. You should be at home right now, painting or sleeping. Not doing this.”

Feliciano looked stunned, for lack of a better term, and Ludwig could practically see the inner conflict through the amber eyes. Ludwig was probably confusing the hell out of him. What person offers to help someone financially after meeting them once? Who does these things for some twenty year old kid who’d been kicked down by life?

Ludwig would never have his answer, because he didn’t see himself as some hero or good Samaritan. He was just doing what was right and doing what he felt inclined to do, because Feliciano was sweet and kind and didn’t fit this scene.

And when Feliciano started crying again Ludwig felt his heart skip because he was smiling and giggling through the tiny hiccups.

“You are a very kind person Ludwig . . . I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into here . . . I have so many bills and expenses. I have to pay for Lovino’s hospital bills, my rent, food, utilities . . . It’s not that simple.”

“It is. I make more than I know what to do with. Let me help you.”

“Why?”

It was asked with zero hesitation and such bluntness that Ludwig couldn’t help but stumble over his words. But he found the right ones and spoke with all the sincerity that he could muster, staring straight into the Italian’s eyes.

“Because you deserve it. I promise.”

It was then that Feliciano stopped his crying, smiled softly, and walked the two steps between himself and Ludwig to bury his face in the other’s chest. Ludwig slowly wrapped his arms around the smaller, reaching up to soothingly brush his fingers through Feliciano’s hair.

They stayed like that until Gilbert finally showed up, sporting a new black eyes and a split lip, and suggested they leave before those ‘un-awesome pricks’ woke back up from their little nap-slash-coma. Ludwig felt Feliciano giggle against his chest, and couldn’t help but smile the most sincere smile he’d worn in quite a while. Even Gilbert seemed surprised.

“So, am I calling separate cabs or what West?”

Ludwig motioned ‘one second’ with his finger and looked down at Feliciano, who seemed half asleep and very content against his newly claimed perch.

“Would you like to stay with me tonight? I can understand how you’d like not to be alone after all that.”

The Italian nodded sleepily and Ludwig told Gilbert to call for two cabs, which earned him a strangely comforting smile from his usually perverted brother.

Ludwig let Feliciano stay leaned up against him until the cab got there, for the entire ride home, and up the driveway to the front door. He tried to tell himself that it was purely from exhaustion but he had a tiny spark of hope in the back of his head that told him it was for many other things. He ignored it, however, and concentrated on getting the other onto the couch.

“Feliciano, do you want coffee?”

“Mm . . . Yes please . . .”

Ludwig shook his head and walked into the kitchen, not entirely convinced that Feliciano would even be able to stay awake to drink any coffee. But, he made it anyways and gathered blankets from the linen closet in the laundry room so he could make the couch more comfortable for himself, since he dared not make Feliciano sleep there.

After a few minutes of complete silence, he peeked his head out the door frame and listened again.

“Feliciano, are you still awake?”

Not a peep. Of course.

Sighing in defeat, Ludwig shut off the coffee pot and turned off the kitchen light, picking up the pile of blankets and padding his way back out into the living room to find Feliciano asleep. Not only was he asleep, but he was curled up into the corner of the couch, his knees pulled to his chest and the oversized jacket absolutely engulfing him. It was so cute that Ludwig just about died right then and there.

But it was not the time for creepy peeping and dawdling. It was time to get the little bundle of cuteness to bed. So with that, Ludwig went into his bedroom to turn down the bed before going back out to retrieve Feliciano. Normally, Ludwig would have many qualms about picking someone up and carrying them around, but he just knew that the other would not mind.

Once he got Feliciano tucked into bed, his murmurs of approval enough to satisfy Ludwig’s nerves, he made sure to place a glass of water on the nightstand and leave the door cracked in case the other needed to get up and had to see. It felt nice, taking care of someone, so when Ludwig went to sleep on the too-short and lumpy couch, he really couldn’t find anything to complain about.

 

 

The next morning, Ludwig awoke around nine o’clock and immediately noticed that it was raining outside and his house smelled like coffee and pancakes. Well, that was unusual in itself. But the way the kitchen light was on and Ludwig could hear soft singing and the fact that he wasn’t in his bed really confused him.

But then all the memories of the former night came sluggishly marching back into his brain and he made sense of the situation, remembering that he’d let Feliciano stay in his room the night before and he was probably cooking amazing food and why was Ludwig just sitting there?

He stood up and stretched his back, grumbling as he pushed his hair back and wandered out into the kitchen. He was immediately greeted with a mug of coffee and a banana shoved into his hands, along with two aspirins and a bouncing Italian. It was obvious that Feliciano was a morning person because he was still singing and traipsing around the kitchen in . . . nothing but Ludwig’s jacket.

Ludwig didn’t even feel the scalding liquid in his throat nor could he taste the food he was eating because wow Feliciano looked really cute and he was in _Ludwig’s_ kitchen, wearing _Ludwig’s_ jacket, cooking _Ludwig_ pancakes. A very large stack too, by the looks of it.

“Don’t forget the aspirin. It’ll help with your headache, which I know you have because you look like you got hit by a bus.”

Ludwig grimaced and took the pills, washing them down with more coffee.

“Actually the headache is not too bad. It’s more the back pain.”

“You sound like my grandpa Roma. But you’re too young to be like him so, it’s different. Now sit, I made food, and it’s _squisito!”_

“You speak Italian.”

“Yes, I do. I am from Italy, after all.”

“You do not have much of an accent.”

“I was young when we moved here, and learned English early. I guess the accent just didn’t stick in my English too much.”

Ludwig smiled and nodded, taking the plate offered to him and sitting at the dining room table. The pancakes were indeed very good and Ludwig couldn’t remember the last time he’d had cooking this good for any meal. Which was sad because pancakes are not hard and it really said a lot about his cooking skills.

“You didn’t have to do this Feliciano.”

“Of course I did. You let me sleep in your house and you’re being so helpful. I appreciate it a lot.”

“Well . . . You do not ever have to hesitate to come ask for anything that you need. Never.”

Feliciano nodded happily and continued eating; his eyes back to their pretty glittering happiness that Ludwig had seen at the art store when they’d first officially met. It made him happy, and he would now be seeing a lot more of the Italian, and on top of that, be able to help him, to make him smile and laugh and be truly content. It was a good feeling. Euphoric. Like life itself nestling its way into Ludwig’s once bland and clean cut every day experience.

Things would be better now. Things would be better for the both of them. Even if it was only the beginning of the ride.


	3. Talent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again my awesome girlfriend helped me with ideas! <3   
> Enjoy guys!

It was like Feliciano Vargas had been in his life for the past 24 years and not once left his side. It was so natural that Ludwig actually felt strange when Feliciano took his leave that Saturday afternoon because he insisted that he’d stayed long enough and he wanted to put his paints to good use so he’d best be going, really. He actually wanted him there.

So, the rest of Saturday night Ludwig spent his time staring unseeingly at the TV and thinking about the Italian. He started to crave pancakes and the coffee that was much too strong but he drank it anyways, and he missed Feliciano singing in Italian while he sat on the counter and watched Ludwig do dishes. It was like he just fell into the blond’s life and fit like a puzzle piece.

When Sunday came around, Ludwig had a nice hour long lay in, showered, and had his usual coffee and toast for breakfast. He didn’t really know what to do with his day, honestly, and the more he thought about it, the more his mind looped back around to the person he knew he wanted to come back around. So he busied himself with cleaning.

He washed all the laundry, bleached the shower tiles, scrubbed the sinks and bathtub, vacuumed and mopped the floors, dusted the tables and shelves and cabinets, as well as air out the couch cushions and bed comforter. It took him all of six hours and he couldn’t have been more satisfied with the way it turned out. It was now 3:00 in the afternoon and Ludwig sat triumphantly with a fresh cup of coffee and his favorite book that he’d been re-reading.

But something was still amiss. It was quiet. Now, normally quiet was great and perfect because he was reading and that was how it should be. However, it was just wrong on this particular day. Perhaps it was the way Ludwig had been trying and trying to get to Feliciano all those weeks and it’d finally happened and he was just so overwhelmingly happy about it that he was restless. Maybe it was because even though, yes, he’d just officially met Feliciano, it seemed like the boy _belonged_ in Ludwig’s life. But most of all, maybe this warm feeling in Ludwig’s chest when he thought about the Italian’s warm hair and eyes and tiny body dashing around in the oversized blue jacket, or how beautifully he spoke his mother tongue, or how he lit up when he saw paint or cooked was making him yearn for the other’s company once again.

So Ludwig found himself standing in the kitchen with his cell phone in hand, staring down at the screen which was illuminated with Feliciano’s phone number. They’d made sure to give each other their numbers in case Feliciano needed anything or if Ludwig needed to tell him when he’d be going on a business trip or anything of the sort. But now Ludwig was petrified to call him.

After three rings and a peppy ‘Ciao!’ Ludwig was forced from his stupor and into a stuttering mess. He didn’t really know what to say, honestly, so he opted for the first thing that came to his mind.

“Feliciano?”

“Si! Is this Ludwig?”

An affirming grunt and nothing more.

“Ah fantastic! I was actually going to call you later because I was supposed to go to the hospital to see Lovino with Antonio but they said that there were no visitors allowed today so now I am bored.”

“I see. Well, I am sorry about you not being able to see your brother. But I was bored as well, so why don’t we go get some dinner somewhere? Or . . . You could come here? It does not matter to me.”

Ludwig almost died because Feliciano let out the most adorable giggle that he’d ever heard and it really just made him feel entirely good, inside and out.

“I’d love to go out. We can go to Antonio’s restaurant! He decided to work tonight, I think, to get his mind off of everything else. I’m sure he’d love to meet you!”

“Y-You told him everything?”

“Well, yes. Other than Lovino, I see him as my brother. He’s very grateful to you, you know!”

Ludwig nodded  thoughtfully.

“Okay. Well, I will come pick you up around 5:30? Just tell me your address . . .”

“Um, how about you just pick me up from the art store? I was planning on going to pick something up anyways. I can just go later.”

It was strange, and had he not been so stunned and admittedly giddy from the fact that Feliciano was going to dinner with him, he’d have asked more questions. But his judgment was clouded with excitement.

“Ja, that sounds fine. See you then.”

“Ciao!”

And with that, Ludwig hung up and walked back into the living room to flop down on the couch. That was weird. Very weird, and very suspicious, and very unnerving and worrisome. Why would Feliciano not want Ludwig to know where he lived? What was he hiding? Did he live in a bad part of town, or did he not live anywhere at all? Maybe he was a drug dealer, or part of a gang . . .

Ludwig shook his head and rolled his eyes at himself, the ideas all sounding absolutely absurd. Then again, Feliciano being a stripper would have been quite absurd to him had he not witnessed it firsthand.

So, he decided to do what any sensible . . . Or not so sensible person would do.

He’d call the only person older than him that he (somewhat) trusted and get some brotherly advice. Gilbert may not be the most serious person ever, but when presented with a worried little brother and a dire situation, he could be surprisingly wise and kind and Ludwig would never turn to anyone other than him.

So once again he picked up his phone and dialed the albino, his gruff voice chiming on after a few rings.

“Hallo, it is the awesome me speaking, how can I help you mein baby bruder?”

“How many times must I tell you to stop calling me your ‘baby’ brother? I have a question, and I need a real honest answer Gilbert. No messing around, it is serious.”

Ludwig could always tell when Gilbert shifted into his serious mood because he could hear the man’s porch door slide open, then close, then a lighter and a deep breath. His brother had a nasty habit of smoking when he went all philosophical.

“What happened? Does it have to do with the little Italian?”

“Ja. I invited him to dinner and offered to pick him up at his home, and he got very nervous and asked if I could pick him up in front of the art store instead. It is strange to me. Why would he not want me to know where he lives?”

A thoughtful hum and a deep inhale later, Gilbert replied in a way that made Ludwig want to teleport to his house and punch him in the face.

“I don’t know dude! He just met you. Give him time to get used to this. It’s like, he might be that type of person who feels weird about showing people their house and anything personal until they know them a hell of a lot better!”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen enough personal things about Feliciano, Gilbert. He made me pancakes in nothing but my jacket. I literally mean _nothing else._ I do not think it’s that . . .”

“Hmm, well I really wish I could tell you more but I’ve got nothing this time. Just don’t do anything to scare him off . . . I haven’t seen you that happy in a while.”

Gilbert hung up, then, and Ludwig just felt worse.  But he couldn’t bring himself to let it get him in too terrible of a mood, because he had a date with Feliciano. Was it a date? They were just having dinner, as friends. Acquaintances more like. He had to stop thinking like that or he really would scare Feliciano away.

Shrugging and putting the phone back in his pocket, he went back into the kitchen and rinsed his coffee mug. Leaning against the counter, he took a moment to listen. Listen to the silence of his home. It was lonely, he thought, and he figured that even if all Feliciano would ever be to him was a friend, that was okay. Because he was the opposite of Ludwig and that was, he knew, the reason that he liked him so.

Since he’d gotten dirty and sweaty from cleaning, he went in to take another shower and spent a half an hour washing his hair and body numerous times, making sure his face was free of stubble. Once he’d finished washing, he wrapped a towel around his waist and pushed his hair back to get a good look at himself. He was thankfully having a day where he felt quite presentable, so he didn’t bother doing much more than putting on deodorant and a nice pair of dark jeans and a button up shirt. He noticed for the first time that he had quite a simplistic wardrobe. But it was him, so it went well.

It was 5:15 when he finally finished getting dressed and finding his wallet and keys and shutting off all of the lights. He couldn’t help smiling to himself because, even though he would never say it aloud, his mind kept circling back to the title of ‘date’ and he really just gave up on not thinking of it that way. To him, it was a date. 

So when he finally pulled up in the parking lot of the art store and spotted Feliciano sitting on a bench with a Styrofoam cup of what was probably coffee, he just got really excited.

Once he got out of the car and approached the brunette, he could immediately smell the mix of coffee and cologne and shampoo that smelled like flowers and laundry soap and _Feliciano._ He felt his heart skip.

“Ludwig! You’re here!”

“Yes, I am. Are you ready to go? You will have to tell me the way.”

“Oh it’s very easy! It’s only about ten minutes, if that, from here.”

Ludwig nodded and turned back towards the car, Italian in tow. He couldn’t help but notice how good Feliciano looked and he suddenly felt underdressed. While he was wearing simple jeans and a dress shirt, Feliciano was clad in form fitting brown pants, the bottoms cuffed to the top of his ankle boots, and a deeper brown belt. These paired with a cream colored button up and an orange scarf, his hair just as wild and silky as Ludwig remembered. He looked incredible, frankly.

It really did only take a few minutes, once they’d gotten out of the crowded parking lot, to drive to the little restaurant tucked between a book store and a corner pharmacy. It was quaint and Ludwig loved it. Feliciano was practically bounding from his seat before Ludwig had fully parked.

The front panels underneath the windows were a deep red with gold trim, along with a set of wooden double doors that were propped open by specials’ signs. There were a few iron cast tables and chairs out front, customers chatting and sipping at mugs of coffee, and it had an atmosphere of familial and kind. Ludwig loved it already.

But before they could even get inside, the small boy beside him was suddenly scooped into the air by someone who’d honestly come out of nowhere and Ludwig didn’t really have time to react because he had no idea who this person was.

When Ludwig looked over, Feliciano was being hugged tightly to another man’s chest, his squeaks of happy protests barely audible over the other man’s loud and excited Spanish rambling. This must be Antonio, Ludwig thought, and he had to say that he commended Lovino for his tastes, for the Spaniard was definitely easy on the eyes.

Once he’d let Feliciano out of his grasp, he started speaking in just as excitable English, his accent and lisp very prominent.

“You told me you were coming to dinner tonight, and I just couldn’t wait to see you because it’s been almost three weeks since we’ve seen each other in person! Talking on the phone just isn’t the same!”

Feliciano giggled sweetly and tightened his hold on Antonio’s hands, their bunched fists held between their chests like gossiping high school girls.

“Well I would have come to see you sooner if you didn’t live in the next city! Plus every time you’re here working, I’m working myself! Really, what kind of restaurant owner only works at their restaurant only a few times a week!?”

“Sweet, sweet Feli, you know I only live in the next town because I like to live with Francis! But this is not the right conversation for dinner time! Please, please, introduce me to the famous Ludwig! This must me him, no?”

Blue eyes met green and Ludwig felt immediately humbled and calm. He walked a bit closer and smiled as warmly as he could, reaching out his hand to shake Antonio’s tanned and calloused one. The hands of a hard worker, Ludwig thought.

“It’s nice to meet you, I am Ludwig Beilschmidt.”

Antonio chuckled heartily and gave Ludwig’s hand, which he’d been holding onto for a lingering moment, a soft squeeze.

“No need to be so formal, amigo! I am Antonio but you can just call me Toni! Feli here does and so do most of my customers and friends.”

Ludwig nodded, letting go of the other’s hand and stepped a bit closer to Feliciano. Subconsciously of course.

Antonio quickly ushered them inside and to a table near the back where the music was a bit quieter and they could talk more. Ludwig was grateful.

Their waiter was incredibly nice and energetic, bringing them their drinks in record time and treating them like old friends. It was so very fitting for a place such as this and honestly the food was some of the best Ludwig had ever had. Feliciano seemed to be having such a good time and even though he’d had three glasses of wine his demeanor didn’t change and neither did his speech or movements. It was impressive, to say the least, that he didn’t even seem buzzed. The beer, to Ludwig’s excitement, was good, and he had to say that he was disappointed that he could only have one since he’d be driving later.

Once they’d finished eating and spent another hour or so talking with Antonio, who by Feliciano’s scolding Ludwig figured out should be working, but he made for great stories so eventually Feliciano let it go, they made their leave. It had gotten dark, it being around 8:00, and Ludwig didn’t really know if he wanted to go home alone.

So, when they got back into the car, Ludwig took a deep breath and turned to Feliciano, who was fiddling with the air freshener hanging from the mirror.

“Feliciano, do you want to come over tonight? I have to work tomorrow, so you would be at my house by yourself in the morning. But I don’t really have anything to do tonight so . . .”

Feliciano just grinned and pulled his scarf tighter as he snuggled down into the seat.

“Sure, Ludwig. Let’s go!”

“V-Very well, then.”

And so they went. Feliciano ended up singing to the 90’s radio station and by the time they got back to Ludwig’s house he’d been pushed back into his childhood through renditions of numerous old bands he thought he’d escaped long ago. But he enjoyed it none the less, because it was with Feliciano.

They spent the rest of the night sitting on the couch, milling through two Saw movies, A Walk To Remember, Pacific Rim, and by recommendation of Feliciano, Castle in the Sky. By the end of their movie marathon it was well into the morning hours, and there were two empty cartons of ice cream, a half eaten pack of twizzlers, and pretzels that somehow made their way all over the carpet. Ludwig felt like he was 16 again, and even though he knew he’d regret it (somewhat) when he woke up, he enjoyed every second of it.

So, with Feliciano asleep on the other end of the couch, Ludwig draped a quilt over him and made his way into his bedroom to get a few hours of sleep before work. As much as he didn’t want to leave Feliciano, he knew that the sooner he got to work and got the day over with, the sooner he could come home and _hopefully_ Feliciano would still be there. He hoped. Very, very strongly.

And when the alarm buzzed him awake three hours later, he wished even stronger that the day would end. Because he was so tired, he felt like he was dying.

He was quiet through his shower and making coffee and toast, taking a few minutes to clean up the living room as he ate and admired the little ball of Italian that was cuddled up on the couch. He looked so sweet, and Ludwig just really, really didn’t want to leave.

But, here he was, at 7:35am, heading out to his car to drive to the office which smelled of anything _but_ coffee and warmth and sweet shampoo, with people who _weren’t_ small and cute and bouncy and sweet.

However, even though Ludwig dreaded the work day the very second he stepped out of his car, it did seem to go by fast. He didn’t know if it was because he was happy from the night before, or if it was because he was anxious to go see if Feliciano stayed all day, or if it was because, to everyone’s surprise, he left precisely on time.

At 5:30, he pulled up in his driveway and leapt out of the car with vigor, his heart and stomach jumping into his throat when he noticed that the living room light was on, and he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face.

He was greeted with soft instrumental piano and violins, the scent of paint and newspaper and fresh coffee and bread, Feliciano’s unmistakable singing voice assaulting his ears, and suddenly his house didn’t feel empty and lonely. It didn’t feel bland and silent. It felt like _home_.

When he walked through the living room and pushed the swinging door to the dining room open, the music grew just a bit louder and the first thing he noticed was the overwhelming amount of newspaper spread on the floor.

Across the room, across the sea of black and white, Feliciano sat on a tall stool, an easel with a canvas perched in front of him as his paint covered arms and fingers worked with finesse. He must have gone home to get his paints, Ludwig thought, and he had to stifle a laugh, because Feliciano looked really small in front of that huge canvas and his skin and clothing was absolutely covered in paint of every color. Even his hair had paint in it, even though it was tied back with a white bandana, and the fact that the Italian had managed to get paint in even his hair just made Ludwig smile even more. How precious can one person be, he had to ask himself.

Feliciano was obviously in his own little world, because he didn’t even look up when Ludwig sat his briefcase down and walked past him into the kitchen. Once he’d poured himself a cup of coffee, which seemed to have been made not too long ago, he leaned against the counter and watched Feliciano paint.

He was taken aback immediately. It was amazing, how Feliciano’s nimble little fingers blended and smeared the paint in ways a brush couldn’t, making colors and lines that challenged the creative mind. The boldness of the way he painted was incredible, seemingly so unafraid to make mistakes because he just went with however his hands carried the medium. The concentration on his face when he dabbed a burst of yellow, or a smooth caress of blue in an oasis of green, was something akin to love and adoration for his art.

It wasn’t until Ludwig placed his hand on Feliciano’s shoulder that the brunette looked up from his work, a dazed look in his eyes like he didn’t know where he was or what time it was or how he’d gotten to be right next to Ludwig.

“Let me ask you something, Feliciano.”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you not studying art at University? This is beautiful, the best I’ve ever seen anyone paint. Not even Gilbert can paint like this, and he _is_ and art student . . .”

A sad look overtook Feliciano’s face, one of longing and intense sadness.

“I can’t pay for it. I _have_ to pay for Lovino’s hospital bills, or they’ll stop treating him and he’ll die.”

“I told you that I would help you, did I not?”

“B-But Ludwig, I could never ask you to help me with both. That’s outrageous.”

“It is not. What is outrageous is not showing the world this talent and not being able to apply it to all aspects of your life. Do you realize how much people would pay for art work like this?”

“I just can’t, Ludwig.”

Ludwig walked around to stand in front of Feliciano, careful not to touch the canvas, and put both hands on his shoulders.

“Please let me do this. I can’t believe . . . You are so good at this, and it is obvious how much you love it. I am confused as to why you wouldn’t jump at this chance.”

Feliciano looked down, shamefully, but Ludwig could see a tinge of anger that did not fit Feliciano’s face and immediately regretted having said anything at all. Suddenly, Feliciano stood; setting his paintbrush on the newspaper laid out on the dining room table, and walked over to the sink. He washed his hands and arms silently, and forlorn expression plaguing him.

And then he left. He left, Ludwig standing in the kitchen completely lost and upset and empty because he knew he’d fucked up but he had no idea how or why and he just felt so sad. Feliciano had left him, because he insisted and insisted even though he knew in his gut that it wasn’t how he should handle the other. But he didn’t listen, and just as Gilbert had warned him not to, he’d scared him off. Whether or not he’d see him again, he really didn’t know. And that really hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feliciano's outfit consists of this (I thought you'd wanna see!):
> 
> http://www.6pm.com/steve-madden-troopah2-brown-leather
> 
> http://www.jcpenney.com/gh-bass-corduroy-pants/prod.jump?ppId=pp5003270919&selectedSKUId=55083510067&selectedLotId=5508351&ppId=pp5003270919&fromBag=true&cm_mmc=ShoppingFeed-_-GooglePLA-_-5-pocket%20Pants-_-55083510067&ci_src=17588969&ci_sku=55083510067
> 
> (Scroll to the last picture) http://www.sevya.com/blog/?p=139
> 
> http://www.ebay.com/itm/Mens-Levis-Jeans-Cream-Collared-Button-Up-Shirt-Front-Pockets-Large-EXC-Cond-/111219495237?pt=US_CSA_MC_Shirts&hash=item19e532d145


	4. Where

Ludwig’s heart hurt and his head right along with it, and when he’d ambled up to his bedroom and crawled into bed, he felt like a sixteen year old girl crying over a breakup. How ridiculous, he thought, because he and Feliciano weren’t even together and it didn’t look at all like that would even happen because Ludwig was an idiot. He’d ruined it.

But oh, how he missed Feliciano and he knew that the scent of those paints and newspaper and the jacket he had gotten back but hadn’t had the heart to wash yet, all of it, would haunt him. He couldn’t stand it, the loss of such an impeccably beautiful and sweet person, all because of his stubbornness. It took him everything he had to get out of bed and clean up the kitchen, biting his lip to hold back tears the whole time, and when he finally went to sleep, it was with a heaviness that he wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

The next day, he tried everything. He did. He wanted Feliciano back and he was willing to do anything in the whole world. It was rainy again, and the swirls of gray and almost black that meandered above his head perfectly mirrored his mood, so when he was walking downtown and felt the little plunks of water on the bridge of his nose and forehead, he didn’t try to cover himself. He just kept walking from his car and towards the art shop, something in his heart holding a little spark of hope that Feliciano would be there. He wasn’t.

Next he sat in the car, and he prayed that maybe, just maybe, Feliciano would answer his phone with that chime of a voice, a chirpy ‘Ciao!’ filtering into Ludwig’s ears. The phone rang all the way until voicemail, and then the second, third, fourth, and much to Ludwig’s self embarrassment, the fifth time, all went to voicemail. Feliciano was definitely ignoring him, and it was so painful. It felt like someone was standing on his chest, and why, why was this one person hurting him so?

The only other things he could think to do was ask Ivan at the bar and Antonio at his café. So, through the now pouring rain, he drove to the strip joint, the whole trip a blur as he just kept thinking about Feliciano and his laugh and his smile and his tiny paint covered hands and when did he start crying, he wondered, his blue shirt darkening in little droplets. It was terrible, because he didn’t cry. Because he didn’t mess up like this.

When he got to his destination, he slid out of his car and into the club, thankful to see the Russian standing at the bar with a bored expression that made it obvious that he wasn’t busy. He made quick work of asking, leaning on the bar top with urgency in his voice, asking simply if Ivan had seen Feliciano since Friday night. He was simply met with a shake of the head and a curious look before he nodded his thanks and left, not really comfortable under the gaze of that man unless he was drunk or at least drinking. After he got the hell out of that place, he gunned it, as fast as his personal rules with driving would allow, to Antonio’s place.

What he was met with, however, was not the same man with a cheery disposition and an aura as bright as the sunshine. No, this man had a snap quick switch to his attitude the very second that he fell into his vision, and Ludwig suddenly felt like he wasn’t as welcomed as he’d been on Sunday. Antonio moved quickly, finishing the cup of coffee he was refilling before moving over to where Ludwig stood with slightly widened eyes. But Ludwig was determined to speak before Antonio, not wanting to get an earful before he even asked.

“Hello Antonio, I’m sorry to bother you at work but I…I seem to have messed up-“

“You messed up alright. I don’t know what you want, but if it’s about Feliciano, I think you should just stop.”

His accent was heavy with slight annoyance, and Ludwig could feel his green eyes darkening. Antonio didn’t seem like the type you wanted to mess with when he is angry, that Ludwig was sure of, and he suddenly regretted ever coming here for help.

“Listen, I do not know what I did, but I just want to talk to him. I feel awful for making him upset.”

“As you should! I have not seen Feliciano that upset in a very long time and if you think that I am going to let you near him just so you can make it worse, you are sadly mistaken.”

“But I-“

“No, lo siento, but I’m not going to help you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

That was that. The words were like venom and a knife right in Ludwig’s chest, and he knew that it was no use. He just turned back to his car and sighed, sliding back in and going home. It was no use. It was no. use. Those words just kept repeating themselves and Ludwig just couldn’t bring himself to do anything. He’d already missed work, already missed eating for most of the day, already messed up the one thing in his life that was starting to look like it could make him happy. Really happy. When he got home and into his room, he was bombarded by texts and phone calls from Gilbert, and after being annoyed to the point of wanting to throw his phone, he answered it.

“Hello.”

“West! I am sure that I’m not going insane, because how un-awesome would that be, but you were not at work today. Are you by chance dead?”

“Bruder, I am not in the mood for you today.”

“Hey, what’s wrong man?”

Ah, there it was, the slide of a glass door, this time the one attached to Gilbert’s office instead of his apartment, and a flick of a lighter and inhale, exhale, sigh.

“I messed up with Feliciano. I just don’t know what I did. It made him mad though, and he left, and I can’t find him. Antonio is rather mad at me too.”

“O-oh. Well, what did you say to him?”

“I just offered to pay for him to start school. He’s a wonderful painter and I didn’t see why he didn’t want to do anything with it.”

“Oh man, West, bad plan.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

“It’s not for me to talk to you about baby bruder.”

“Stop calling me that. And why not?”

A long sigh followed, and Ludwig could hear Gilbert take another drag of his cigarette. Such a horrid habit, but it helped calm Gilbert and keep him thinking straight.

“Just don’t drink away your feelings West. Oh, and you should come out with me again Friday night! It’ll make you feel better.”

“But won’t Feliciano be-“

He was cut off by the click of Gilbert’s cell phone, and he mentally cursed his brother because really, why was he always so…Gilbert? He had to shrug it off, though, because he decided to try Feliciano one more time. Maybe he’d been sleeping and just hadn’t heard his phone, or maybe it had been on silent. In reality, his mind was laughing at him. If that was true, and Feliciano wanted to talk to him, he would have called back by now. But he tried anyways.

When he received one of those monotonous and rather annoying female voice recordings telling him that the phone was no longer in service, however, he felt like the ground had slipped from under his feet. How could he have messed up this badly? He had no answers. Not a single one.

So for the rest of the day, and the week, he went right back to his routine and bland set way of living. Wake up, shower, get dressed, go to work, come home, repeat. It was boring, and for the first time, he wanted it to change, and when Friday came along he just prayed that Feliciano was working and at the same time he felt his entire being shaking from dread that he _was_ working. What would he do if he was there, if he wasn’t there, if he appeared and gave Ludwig a look that said ‘I hate you’, or ‘I miss you’, or even looked at all? There was no answer, once again.

Gilbert dragged him out regardless of his mood though, ignoring the body language that screamed ‘please leave me alone’ and the way that Ludwig wasn’t as put together as he usually was. His platinum hair hung loosely against his forehead, his cologne forgotten, and the jeans he wore were from the pile of clothes he’d already worn that week along with the plain button up he’d thrown on. He just looked . . . lazy. Not that he had a reason to care. He didn’t care about these people, so appearing disheveled didn’t bother him.

What did bother him, however, was the fact that after four beers and a rather nasty shot of vodka from a strangely sympathetic Ivan, he looked up and saw a familiar face strutting across the stage. He felt his heart clench, his stomach clench, everything hurt, because there he was, supple and gorgeous and his pretty little legs and eyes and lips and shoulders and oh, everything. It was horrible and wondrous at the same time. He was snapped out of it by Gilbert shaking him out of his daze because his beer was getting cold and he should really pay attention and drink it while it was good, all slurred and oblivious. Eventually though, Gilbert actually left, leaving Ludwig alone after saying that he had a ‘place’ to be. Normally, this would have angered Ludwig immensely, because as incompetent and self absorbed as Gilbert could be, he never ditched him. But Ludwig couldn’t concentrate on that right now, and when Feliciano left his spot after his dance about fifteen minutes later, Ludwig went against his better judgment, actually glad now that Gilbert had left a while beforehand, and followed him.

He wasn’t trying to be creepy or some sort of stalker, no really, he wasn’t. But he just _had_ to talk to Feliciano because he was like _sunshine_ and _air_ so Ludwig just needed to. He was glad to see when Feliciano left out of the back, walking in his normal attire, and he was just about to walk up to him when he noticed someone else in his presence. This man was rather . . . flamboyant, and the only reason Ludwig could tell that was because of his large hand gestures and rather bright wardrobe choices. He was slightly taller than Feliciano, wavy shoulder length hair that mimicked a dirty blond color, and deep blue eyes that were visible even in this darkness, his legs clad in red jeans, pairs with a deep blue button up and a white belt.

It wasn’t like Ludwig had any business following them, and he knew he would regret it later on because really, who does stuff like that? But he was teetering on the edge of drunkenness and he honestly didn’t care because he _needed_ to talk to Feliciano. He just did.

So he followed them. He was ridiculously grateful to see that they were walking, as he definitely didn’t feel like getting a DUI or dying because his judgment clouded enough to let him drive. But where they were headed made his stomach churn, because why were they going into the run down part of the downtown strip? Why were they turning into an obviously occupied but not seemingly fit to be apartment building? It made Ludwig’s heart leap into his throat and stay there, pounding so loud that he could hear it in his ears. But he followed, because it had been a week and he was not leaving without answers.

 


	5. Why

(This is basically just the continuation of the last chapter, as it kind of slides right in from the last one and it was all written at once. I just split them.)

 

Ludwig followed, sliding into the door after Feliciano and the blond were already clunking up the metal staircase. He was quiet, making sure to place each foot down softly and keep to the side so they didn’t see him or hear him and his breath was ever so soft even though his heart hammered. He saw them veer off the staircase at the third floor and did the same, seeing them go into one of the only three apartments on the floor.

Now, Ludwig wasn’t nosy, and he didn’t invade peoples’ privacy or really do anything he shouldn’t. But when he approached the apartment door and found it still sitting open just a bit, the poor state of it causing it not to spring back closed all the way, he found that he was thinking that this was _lucky._ But he didn’t go in, didn’t even open the door more. No, he just listened, because he could hear Feliciano’s voice, then a voice that he assumed belonged to the blond he was with, then Antonio’s voice, another deep voice with a more prominent Italian accent, and . . . Gilbert’s voice.

This was an interesting development, he though, crossing his arms and leaning against the outside wall right beside the door. Basically, all he heard was idle chatter and shifting on what he assumed were their couches and chairs, and he suddenly felt a pang in his chest because Feliciano didn’t sound sad at all and Gilbert was there and not saying a word about anything and worse yet, sounded like he’d been around them all for a very long time. This hurt more than Feliciano’s anger at him.

But he held himself, listening some more as the deep Italian voice started speaking, and raised an eyebrow at how he cursed every five seconds and seemed to quite dislike Antonio. The Spaniard, Ludwig could tell, was trying to get on the Italian’s good side and etcetera, and overall it sounded like a rather normal get together, aside from the fact that he was still confused as to why Gilbert was there and what was really going on. But what happened next made his heart drop from where it had been thudding in his throat down into his stomach, causing the acid to burn at him.

“Get the hell off of me stupid bastard!”

It was the Italian, and the stupid bastard was quite obviously Antonio from what Ludwig could hear. But then Gilbert spoke, and Ludwig’s brain went from firing at all circuits, to shorting out from confusion.

“Geez Lovino, couldn’t you be a bit nicer to your boyfriend?”

Lovino. That was Feliciano’s brother. Who was supposed to be in the hospital, unable to walk around or even _leave_ the damned place. Ludwig was confused, oh so very confused and he wasn’t sure what possessed him to stand from the wall and push the door to the apartment over, unaware of just how horrible what he was doing was. When he went through the foyer, he was glad to see that no one was facing him and were all occupied. Not like it mattered, as he cleared his throat to alert them of his presence and as soon as Gilbert and Feliciano, who were sat together in a single arm chair, looked up at him, he felt like he could cry.

They were friends, this whole time, they were friends and Gilbert was always with them and never once helped fix things. He didn’t even tell him he _knew_ these people! What hurt the most though, was that Feliciano had been laughing and smiling and everything like he wasn’t even upset, and if he wasn’t upset why wouldn’t he answer his calls?

“Gilbert. What is going on?”

Just then . . . his voice trembled, everything trembled, even his heart. The look in those ruby eyes in front of him was one of a thousand apologies and a whole whirlwind of emotion and upset, and Ludwig couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at his brother, not even for a moment. So when the albino stood and walked past him to leave, he didn’t stop him. He didn’t even move. No, he just looked at Feliciano, heart shattering and he could swear, oh did he swear it, it was audible in the tiny room, where Antonio stared at him with disdain and Francis and Lovino looked at him with confusion and slight annoyance. Feliciano was the only one who was looking at him with sadness, and . . . slight fear.

But that didn’t stop him from stepping forward and grabbing the little Italian’s wrist, pulling him easily from his seat and towards the door, a cursing Lovino and Antonio being held back by the blond. Ludwig could tell that the man understood, at least a little, that Ludwig wasn’t here to hurt Feliciano or even take him anywhere, just to talk. He could see it in his eyes as they passed each other.

Once they were outside in the hallway, Ludwig turned towards Feliciano and stared down at him, forcing his face to completely relax so he didn’t look like he was angry. He had a habit of scowling, Gilbert had told him.

“Feliciano . . . I’ve called you so many times, your service was cut, I looked for you everywhere and Antonio is royally pissed at me and I don’t know why. What did I do? Why did you just leave me like that? I was just trying to help you, and you got angry at me.”

Feliciano was staring at his hands that trembled in front of him, balling around each other and fingers carding together before sliding apart, his mannerisms screaming nervousness. Ludwig could very well understand, because he was nervous too. But he wanted answers. Then, something he didn’t expect happened, and Feliciano started crying. Really crying, like he’d watched someone die.

“It hurt to be around you when you were being so nice to me and I was . . . using you.”

“You were not using me, I offered those things to you.”

Feliciano shook his head, wiping at his eyes and shifting his feet uncomfortably.

“N-No, no, you offered me paints. But when my brother found out that you just handed money over, he . . . he told me that I had to make it so you would offer to help pay my bills. I lied to you . . . about so many things.”

“What . . . what did you lie about?”

“Lovino isn’t in the hospital, as you saw. He’s well now, he has been for a year. Gilbert and Antonio knew but . . . I made them lie for me. I work at the club that Francis owns to help, and we live in this crappy apartment but still can barely afford it and food and utilities and the hospital bills, so . . . he had me get you to help pay for things . . . And I got so mad on Monday because I felt like a horrible person and you were offering to pay for another thing and I just . . .”

Ludwig’s blood was boiling, and had he been sober and rational, he might not have been quite as angry, and he might have been able to calm Feliciano down, and he might not have royally fucked up even more. But . . . somewhere in his mind, he _wanted_ to do this, _wanted_ to cut this off. Because a liar is a liar and he didn’t tolerate it.

“You lied to me, Feliciano. You . . . how dare you use me.”

“Ludwig I-“

“No. You could have just asked, but you used me and lied, and you made me . . . You made me . . . Never mind. I’m sorry, but please continue to stay out of my life. You may come pick your paints and other things up tomorrow, but then please leave.”

With that, he was done discussing, done trying, and done listening to this hurtful garbage. He’d been fucked over and hurt and he was absolutely done and he wouldn’t listen to it anymore. He turned on a heel and walked back down the hall, down the stairs, and out into the humid night where he fought the tears because those along with the sticky sweat that plastered his bangs to his forehead, he would have felt twice as disgusting as he already did.

He walked back home, because Gilbert had already left and probably taken the car and he didn’t have the money for a cab or bus. Besides, the time alone was nice, even though he’d be alone when he got home, because out here he could think without feeling isolated by his house and the walls and the scent of Feliciano’s presence that somehow still lingered in the kitchen.

He eventually got there, though, climbing up the stairs to get in the shower and put on some pajamas before going to bed. He cried again, for hours until he could sleep, because he had never been lied to and hurt by someone he cared about, not even Gilbert. His brother had always been ever so honest and though it was sometimes annoying, Ludwig immensely appreciated it because he knew, always knew, that he would be told the truth and would never be screwed over by his brother. It was nice to have someone like that.

Even though Gilbert had lied this once, though, Ludwig wasn’t mad at him. He could understand how being the middle man like that could be confusing and how Gilbert had probably felt so stuck because he wanted to help his brother but couldn’t give out information about Feliciano when he didn’t want it given out. But Feliciano, yes, Ludwig was angry with him, more like shot down and bleeding from the heart at just how quick he had lied and used him for money. It hurt, because even though Ludwig had been trying not to let himself admit it and had thought how stupid it was to think this so soon, he knew for a fact that he was so deeply and painfully in love with that boy. He didn’t care about clichés. He didn’t care that Feliciano’s life was a whirlwind of bad things. He didn’t care that Feliciano had problems. He’d loved him, he still loved him, but he knew now that it wouldn’t happen because he couldn’t trust him.

Yet, he still missed him. He missed his little feet on his hardwood floor, the way he mixed pancake batter while sitting on the counter even though Ludwig told him not to, especially when he wasn’t wearing pants. He missed Feliciano’s voice and his laugh and his hair with that curl that Ludwig had tried to make sit down over and over and given up. He missed the way he’d bounced in his seat like a child and sung in Italian and cranked the car radio up to inhumane volumes and basically just screamed the words until Ludwig would sing along too. It was all absolutely immeasurably beautiful and it would never be Ludwig’s again. I couldn’t.

So now, he just wanted to sleep, but couldn’t. He couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop thinking, and he just gave up after a while and opted to turn the TV in his bedroom on and watch awful 3am sitcoms. It eventually rolled around to be the next morning, and Ludwig still hadn’t gotten up for more than the bathroom and to get a beer and a snack. He just wasn’t himself anymore, and he just hoped that by Monday he could pull himself up and get back into his regular routine.

But that was a problem, because before, he had no problem with his tedious routine and day to day similarities. But now that there had been a disruption, and he’d had a taste of what his life could be, even if it had only been for a couple of days, he didn’t _want_ that life anymore. He wanted his life with Feliciano back, because it was starting to be the best life. The best time he’d had in years, in _ever._

He couldn’t have it though, and throughout the morning, he only accomplished a shower, some breakfast, and leaving a note for Feliciano that the door was unlocked in case he decided to come get his paints that day. He ignored Gilbert’s phone calls, only sending him a text to let him know that, no, he wasn’t mad at him but he didn’t want to talk and to please leave him alone. But he still got another phone call, and this time a voicemail from his brother telling him that he’d be at his boyfriend’s house a few streets over if he needed anything, to which he just rolled his eyes and shut his phone off.

He spent the rest of the day just laying in bed and watching movies, a few of which made him want to claw his eyes out at the cheesiness because no, things never happened like that! Life wasn’t a love story, and people don’t get their lover at the end. It doesn’t happen like that all the time.

At one point, he heard the front door open and shut, and he immediately turned the volume on the TV up so he didn’t have to hear Feliciano milling about downstairs because he knew that’s who it was. But his hopes were smothered when he heard pitter pattering footsteps coming up the stairs, down the hall and then stop at his door.

“Ludwig . . . can we please talk?”

No. No they couldn’t.

“Ludwig please, I’m sorry . . . I didn’t want it to get so far . . .”

Then why did he let it? Why? It was all Ludwig wanted to ask, but he didn’t.

“Please . . . I didn’t think . . . I didn’t plan on feeling so . . .”

So what? So much like a liar? Like a cheat? Like a horrible person? He should have thought of that before he used him.

Ludwig heard a sigh, a sniffle, and the shifting of Feliciano who was obviously leaning against the door.

“I’ll leave then . . . I’m really sorry Ludwig . . .”

Oh, Ludwig thought, he’s crying now. Somewhere in his mind, Ludwig felt smug, like Feliciano deserved to cry after what he did. But no, he knew that was wrong because such a beautiful face shouldn’t cry no matter what and Ludwig was finding it harder and harder to be mad. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still crushed, however, so he stayed put until the front door shut, and even then, he just sunk into his covers more. He wasn’t sure what else to do with himself.  

 


	6. Reassemble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it took forever for this to happen. It's been what, five months or something? Sorry guys. School + Depression + Anxiety/Panic disorder is a bitch.   
> Anyways, yay not so sad chapter cuz I love you guys <3

Ludwig was not, by any means or in any relation to the word, in his right mind. He was not the type of man to just lay around and do nothing because there was always work to be done and it was foolish to waste so much time being lazy and fat and sad. But here he was, lying in his dark blue bed sheets while watching some very sad romance movies that Gilbert had left at his house a few months ago before all of this mess started, and he really needed a shower too. He _desperately_ needed to eat and have some water, too. But coffee pumped through his system and that was about it.

It wasn’t like he was _trying_ to be a drain on society, but he’d missed two days of work already and Gilbert, as persistent as ever, was still calling him a minimum of ten times a day.

Ludwig ignored him.

He did not like liars and cheaters and even worse than those things were the people who were completely aware but stood by and did nothing. It wasn’t as if that person was the catalyst, but they sure didn’t help the situation.

So Ludwig just sighed when he heard the phone vibrating again, too lazy to get up and go turn it off. He had tossed it across the room, after all. He was surprised that it hadn’t cracked on the wood flooring. He rolled over when it vibrated again, blinking blearily through his tear battered blue eyes. It wasn’t a good day.

It wasn’t until a few hours later, however, around three in the afternoon, that Ludwig began to feel a disturbance in the natural order of things . . . Well, at least his newfound natural order. He heard a loud slam, something akin to a car door just outside, which was strange because the only person he knew that had a car besides him was Gilbert and he should know better than to come around when Ludwig was in a bad mood! Even though . . . this was a bit different from a bad mood.

This was no ‘bad mood’. This was a full blown depressive episode and frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Gilbert was breaking his rules in order to fix things.

He still didn’t get up though, curling into his soft sheets that were far too overused but still caressed him in a comfort that he didn’t know how to get otherwise. Maybe he could go get drunk at that stupid club, let Ivan stuff him with drinks to his heart’s content, and then take home a scantily clad dancer who only wanted to get off and nothing more. That’s what he should have done in the first place, if he were being honest with himself.

Just when he thought that no one was actually coming though, he heard the front door jiggling, a few different voices, and then into his quiet, dull home came what sounded like a herd of elephants. Gilbert nor his usual crowd of friends usually had any finesse anyways. He was not surprised.

Now he got up, curling his stiff toes against the cold hardwood floors and tugging at the old t-shirt he was wearing along with flannel pajama pants, stretching his arms above his mussed head. He really needed that shower soon. Maybe a shave too.

“ . . . Hello?”

No answer.

A lack of answers seemed to be happening a lot lately.

He sighed and began to walk out of his room, poking his head out into the hallway before he deemed it safe enough to go out and down the stairs, the creaking under his feet making it obvious to anyone who’d just entered his home that he was coming.

When he rounded into the living room, he paused, unfazed completely when he saw Gilbert, along with Antonio, Francis, and Lovino standing there bickering amongst themselves. He stared at them, deadpanned expression, and realized they had, in fact, not heard him come downstairs.

“ . . . What. Are. You. Doing.”

His voice held a bit of malice, but it was mostly just tired, resigned, and annoyed. He glared pointedly at Gilbert.

“Oh! Hey West. Listen, I’m getting’ real sick of you moping around and being . . . Well, _not_ you. So, we’re here to stage a little intervention.”

“You are the last group of people I want to see right now.”

He turned on a heel, intent on going back up to his room and locking the door behind him, which in the long run wouldn’t do much since Gilbert was strangely good at picking locks.

He didn’t get far, however, before Lovino was shooting out of his chair, grabbing his wrist and yanking him back. Ludwig was frankly surprised when he turned, getting a good look at the man.

It was pretty obvious that it was Feliciano’s brother . . . but he was darker, more rustic than Feliciano, his eyes darker and a bit smaller, but that could be from the angry squinting. He was also a little taller, broader, like he worked outside more often than not, or at least used to. It was the body of a dancer, though . . . Just like Feliciano had said. Lovino was beautiful, too. But not as beautiful as Feliciano.

No one was as beautiful as Feliciano. He felt like he was going to be sick.

“Listen up you fucking child.”

The Italian’s grip grew tighter on Ludwig’s wrist, his dark brows furrowing with frustration. He was furious, and it was rather obvious.

“My brother is stupid. He’s absolutely brilliant but he’s stupid. He goes with what I say just because I’m his brother and doesn’t ask any questions, so if you want to be angry at someone, be angry at ME, because I don’t fucking care.”

Ludwig felt his face grow softer and softer the more Lovino talked, as he could hear the quiet desperation under the yelling and cursing and gruff venomous mannerisms. He was not helping the situation, and Lovino knew it as well as he did.

“Feli _asked_ everyone not to say anything, because he fucking loves you and you’re too much of an idiota to even understand that! He’s been lying in bed, same as you, depressed and not eating or sleeping and fuck all if he needs a bath like you do! Get over yourself and go talk to him. I’m not saying to apologize, but just fucking _talk,_ mio dio!”

It was then, and only then, that Lovino released his hold on Ludwig, huffing in frustration before he went back to sit next to Antonio, who looked unfazed and even agreeing to the man’s outburst. It wasn’t surprising to Ludwig anyways, but they all seemed so used to it.

Ludwig could see the sadness and pleading in every one of their eyes, Gilbert the first to speak again.

“I know you’re upset about everything but you love him, man. You were real happy when he was around and you went and told him to get out of your life because he was naïve and listened to that imbecile’s suggestions.”

He pointed a pale finger at Lovino, who glared ineffectively at him.

Ludwig didn’t know what to do. Should he go talk to Feliciano? Should he fix this whole thing and get his wonderful sunshine back? His beautiful, perfect, delightfully sunny boy who painted without a final goal, who cooked without minding if he got flour in his hair, who sang at the top of his little wind chime voice, all for him . . . all for Ludwig and no one else.

How had he lived before? How had he been happy with such regiment, such order, such quiet? Without Feliciano, now that he’d gotten a taste and been happy for even a few days, he couldn’t . . . _wouldn’t_ let it go.

All of these thoughts raging in his head, tears threatening at the back of his eyes as he wrung his long, pale fingers in the bottom of his worn shirt, and only one thing came to mind the whole time. He had no choice. He really, really didn’t, no matter what he tried to tell himself.

“Mon ami Feliciano needs you, you know.”

“Si, he’s done nothing but cry and whine about how much he wants to apologize to you . . .”

“Come on West, please?”

They all begged him, wanting him to go, when he’d already made his mind up. He had to see Feliciano again, even if nothing was going to be the same. Everything had fallen into place even after such a short amount of time and even when so much had happened, he wanted things to be how they could have been . . . how they were starting to be.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before he nodded, looking at Gilbert with a look that said everything he needed to. That was the glory of having a half decent relationship with the albino . . . things were telepathic almost.

“Alright. I’m going to talk to him. I’ll fix things.”

At Ludwig’s words, he could see everyone relax completely, a silent air of thankfulness and relief washing over them like waves on sand, and he couldn’t have explained the immensity of which he felt better. Not with any words, English or German, could he explain it. Because he knew that Feliciano missed him just as much.

It was then, regrettably, that Gilbert opened his big mouth and ruined the moment.

“Well, Westy, you’re gonna need to take a damn shower and shave before you go anywhere, unless you wanna absolutely kill Feli with your grime.”

His voice returned to its normal overbearing and loud state, the gruffness evident as he clapped Ludwig on the shoulder roughly, causing the blond to wince. He was a little sore and stiff from lying in bed like a stubborn, pouting child, and Gilbert definitely was not helping.

“Yes Gil, I KNOW!”

He huffed, crossing his arms.

“Now is everyone going to get out of my house so I can get ready to leave? Or do I have to chase you out?”

All four of them sighed, standing and gathering again by the door. They all knew Ludwig to an extent, thanks to Gilbert’s rambling about his cute ‘baby’ brother who could do absolutely no wrong, so they all knew that he was a man who was no good at expressing all of his emotions outright. Ever since he’d started going to the club that Feliciano worked at when he’d first seen him, he’d been getting better, but he was still stifled. He preferred to brew in his feelings like a nice stew, savory as it touched the tongue. That was Ludwig.

So they did not push it any longer, simply gathering their coats and slipping out his front door one by one, Gilbert going last. The man then paused on his way out, poking his snowy haired head back in only to give a quiet grin and a thumbs up before leaving Ludwig alone, the click of his large wooden door echoing through the walls of his bland house.

His bland house which had so much life plowed into it as soon as Feliciano walked into the front door and begun to make a second home in such a short time, and his bland house that was sucked clean and devoid of that same life as soon as he’d made the imbecilic decision to get angry at the poor thing.

He missed him, with his big doe eyes and long fairy lashes, his tiny but long painter’s hands, the way he was so light on his feet that Ludwig would have to strain his ears to hear the boy running around the kitchen. He missed how much he loved him. He still loved him, after all.

So once he was sure the group was gone, he made his way back upstairs, gathering a brand new razor and a clean towel, tucking away into the shower for a good thirty minutes. Once he was clean and smelling of green apple and aftershave, he went into his bedroom and put on a pair of black jeans, a cream colored button up, and an army green jacket, combing his hair back as well. If he were to reconcile with Feliciano, he would not want to appear disheveled and pungent with stagnant odor. There was simply no way.

Once he was ready and looking rather nice if he was to be conceited, he slipped his boots on, grabbing his keys off the counter and heading out. He was glad that he hadn’t been so drunk that night that he didn’t remember where Feliciano’s apartment was located, since he definitely didn’t want to get lost and have to make one embarrassing phone call to Gilbert for help.

It was only a twenty minute drive. The apartments looked just as run down as he remembered, but at least it wasn’t as creepy and shady as it was at night. He double checked the lock on the car regardless, however.

He then sighed, as if he were exhaling all qualms and regrets right there onto the faded and cracking pavement, not wanting to allow himself to turn back now. Walking into the corridor, he clunked up the old stairs, his footsteps heavy and nowhere near as pixie-like as Feliciano’s would have been, and found the same apartment, the door once again hanging an inch or two open. How unsafe, a door that would not close. Feliciano and Lovino must truly not be well off to barely afford somewhere such as this. Ludwig felt better knowing that he might be able to get the other out of this place.

He pushed through the green panel, paint peeling like parchment left in the sun, and the creaking and Ludwig’s steps echoed off the walls of the almost barren apartment. It wasn’t like the ghettos or the swales or something like that, but Ludwig was not comfortable, that was for sure.

“Feli?”

He called his name, like sour honey at the tip of his tongue. It had fermented while they were apart and wallowing, he supposed.

There was no answer. This was a reoccurring fad.

“Feliciano, I am coming in.”

It was obvious which door was the Italian’s bedroom, for Lovino’s room was wide open and the light was on, probably left that way through carelessness for the electric bill even though they of all people should be worrying of that! He flipped the switch off when he passed.

Feliciano’s door had stickers and a little Italian flag stuck childishly on the outside, little dribbles and smudges of paint on the handle and around the outside edge, where he’d probably grabbed it to open or close one too many times with grubby, paint covered fingers.

He was so beautiful, even in regards to his mannerisms.

Ludwig still knocked, pausing a few seconds before trying again, getting no answer, and finding the door unlocked. He pushed it open slowly, the dark and stagnant air pouring over him immediately.

“Feliciano, we need to talk.”

His voice was so soft, so gentle, his steps light for once as he entered the room and sat at the end of the bed, just beside the delicate feet that stuck out from the bright red and yellow and orange quilt. The toes curled briefly before they disappeared, Feliciano’s legs curled up and away as if Ludwig was some kind of disease or violent storm.

“ . . . Why would you want to talk to me? . . . I’m trash . . .”

The Italian’s voice was soft, as always, but rough, underused, tired. It was like he hadn’t slept in days even though he’d been laying here doing nothing.

Ludwig’s heart was breaking. In the silence of the room, once again, it was audible.

“You’re not trash Feli. You’re not. Please just talk to me. I am not upset with you, I just want you to talk to me, okay?”

He sighed, worried. He wanted Feliciano to get up, to smile, to eat pasta and drink too much coffee. He wanted him to come back home with him again and let him watch him paint for hours. This was horrible.

But, after a few moments of patience, the lump under the covers began to stir, slowly sitting up as the brightly color quilt slid down his nimble body, revealing an exhausted looking Italian. His lovely hair was matted and unruly, but nothing a good shower wouldn’t fix, and his eyes that were usually so wide and bright were squinted and sad and had huge bags under them.

How strange, Ludwig thought, that they could both be reduced to this after only a small while of being around each other. It didn’t help that Ludwig had these feelings as well. He could only imagine how bad it would have been if he’d known.

“Feli, look at me . . . I promise I am not upset. I am just worried about you.”

“B-But . . . You told me to stay out of your life . . .”

Feliciano looked down at his own hands, nervousness written all over his face.

“I didn’t mean it.”

Ludwig stated it simply, his expression gentle but serious and stern, pushing across the fact that he meant what he was saying _now._

“I want you to be in my life, Feliciano. I don’t care what kind of issues you have, or had, or whatever. I don’t care if your brother asked you to lie for him. I don’t care. I just . . .”

He sighed heavily, Feliciano still silent.

“I want you and everything you bring back in my home. I want your singing and your messy paints on my wood floors, and your dirty dishes in the sink. I want your smile and laughter and your little feet on my floors when I get home from work and you were _there._ Do you have any idea how good that felt?”

He looked at Feliciano, an almost desperation in his eyes towards the boy, wanting him to understand. He did understand, didn’t he? How could he not know now? It was being spilled out into the open like a mud slide.

“Ludwig, I . . .”

It seemed the Italian was speechless as well.

“Please, I’m sorry for getting angry and not allowing you to explain yourself. I’m sorry for prying when I shouldn’t have and making you feel sad. I don’t want you to feel sad . . . I like when you smile.”

Admitting all of this . . . It really was like swimming through cotton while wet, sticking to everything and feeling as though something is not right even though breathing is still possible. A good analogy for shyness and trouble with words, he supposed.

Meanwhile, Feliciano was simply staring, wide eyed and surprised but still despondent, as if he couldn’t formulate words no matter how hard he thought about it. Maybe he’d made a mistake, Ludwig thought, telling the boy all of these things.

But just as he was about to take it back, apologize repeatedly and take his leave to crawl into his bed again to continue his own moping, he felt the mattress shift. It was then that two small arms wrapped around his shoulders, a sleepy Italian’s head nestling into the curve of his shoulder and neck. It was like a sunrise, or a finale at a fireworks show, warmth bursting through his chest.

“I’m so sorry Ludwig . . . I am sorry I didn’t tell you . . . I just . . . I just fell so deep, and I didn’t want to lose you . . . But it became too much and I just ran away like a coward. I’m sorry.”

Feliciano’s voice was soft, delicate, but happy and relieved now.

“It’s alright . . . it’s okay, I promise. I’m going to take care of you . . . But because I want to . . . Because . . .”

At this he paused, taking a slow, deep breath.

“Because I love you.”


End file.
